Qualm
by Sivan IXXX
Summary: Who knew that Sheva and Chris's partnership would deteriorate into nothing? That they'd cease to see eye to eye?And that an attack on the BSAA would also force them into cooperation? Genre will change. OCs are just filler characters.
1. Part I

**A/N: I think I have ResiEvil fever...This is the fourth story I've made about the series. Quick, someone tie me up and save me from my overactive imagination! Anyway, this is another idea that cropped up as I was reading other stories in the RE archive, but I'm not stealing anyone's plot, conflict, or setting. I promise I always write original.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything within Capcom or any brand names that are mentioned within, so please do not sue. However, any and all names that appear in this story that are unfamiliar to the audience are original and thus belong to me. Any striking ****similarities to persons or things in real life is strictly coincidental.**

**Note: This will be a story of mystery, drama, action and adventure. Plus, the true meaning of friendship and relationships in general between male and female. Well, my perception of them. It won't be cynical or overdone. That's what movies are for.**

**Tammuz IXXX**

* * *

**Partie I: A Quantum of Reality**

It was raining again. No, scratch that. There was a large bucket of water in the heavens that had spilled over, and Seattle was bearing most of the downpour. He had been awake since 6 A.M, so he'd seen the dark purple sky gradually ascend into the hazy grey mass of cloud and gloom of the midday, and through it all, the constant _pitter patter_ of the raindrops never failed to drum against his wide glass window pane, the mirror to the outside world that seemed to be shrouded in mist.

A city surrounded by acres of trees on one side, the ocean on the other, and a snow-capped Mt. Saint Helens not too far off in the distance, the dreary, wet city's sleepy mood seemed to fit hand in hand with his somber disposition as of late.

Wake up, make some coffee, eat a tasteless bagel with some cream cheese, watch the early morning weather forecast ("What do you know, rain _again!_"), work out a little, and then mope around eating leftovers, waiting for late night B-movies to come on. Anything missing?

Oh, yes. His overly concerned little sister. There were at least 10 messages on his voicemail every day, her stern, yet panicked voice demanding that he respond to her text messages and phone calls. To be honest, he didn't want to be bothered. Speaking with her meant baring his soul, pouring out his emotions for hours on end in hopes that she'll understand where he's coming from, only to have simple, mundane words of sympathy thrown his way.

_"It'll get better." "There's light at the end of the tunnel." "Happiness doesn't come to find you; you go looking for it." _What did she know about being a man? About bearing the weight of a reality that was dropped on him like a ton of bricks? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. He knew the world was cruel, but not that it was merciless in ripping your heart out and crushing it, and then crushing it some more.

He had tried to go out to night clubs, flirt a little, drink a little, dance a lot, but it did nothing for him. _Maybe_ when he was in his twenties, but now, party life meant nothing as he slowly crept up to the second phase of his adult life. The thought of getting old made him frown, yet a humorous picture of him with graying temples trying to get the numbers of college students half his age made him chortle briefly, before he sunk back down into his blue mood.

It took too much effort even to smile.

* * *

"Anyone else would have readily accepted the assignment, Chief Alomar."

"Well, I'm _not _anyone else, Hawkins. I have the right to choose which missions to accept and which to deny, otherwise my promotion means nothing. Right?" she asked, glancing back at the statuesque red head.

"Right. But you received that promotion because you're the _best _that the West African branch has. That's why we want _you_ to go," he whined playfully.

"Why not Josh? He's a Commander, much more qualified than I am."

"This is someone who was in his wedding," Hawkins groaned. "He's been assigned to a desk, remember? A set of twins and one more on the way?"

Sheva stopped dead in her tracks, the confining nature of her heels finally coming into effect as they pinched her toes together. "Right." Just maybe a month after their success in Kijuju, Josh had met a kind-hearted operative from the South African branch named Thandewa, they hit it off pretty well, and before everyone knew it, 150 invitations were sent out, including to the U.S to Chris Redfield and Jill Valentine.

_Chris Redfield._ The name alone made her lips curl up in slight disgust. He and his long-lost partner had arrived a few hours before the ceremony, and hadn't even bothered to congratulate her on her promotion in the BSAA. Well, Jill did, but Chris had strategically danced around conversing with her at the reception hall and the five days that they had stayed on the premises. They were supposed to be friends, partners until death, but he couldn't even look her in the eye and instead cowered behind Jill, who was much more open to conversation. His focus had always been on her, as if she were the only person that existed.

_I guess I was right about Americans...Well, Hawkin's okay..._"Yo, Sheva. You alright?" he broke into her thoughts.

"I'm fine," she responded, shaking her head. Her legs automatically revved back into motion, and her mind returned to the present. The pencil skirt she had decided to wear was not conducive with her choice of underwear. She was never one for fashion over comfort. But it was her uniform until 5 o'clock that day, and every other day that she worked, which was every day.

And another thing that she had noticed: she had seen a sharp decline in her field assignments. Either she was dispatching and guiding agents in their missions across Africa, or she was sitting at a desk top maintaining relations with other branches of the BSAA, which was growing at an alarming rate and far beyond her expertise in the computer field. A lab technician would have to come in at one point.

The West African branch of the BSAA already owned 3 four-story buildings bustling with agents, and yet another would have to be built for the new recruits pouring in every week. When she had first joined, there were only 30; now there were close to 300.

"Well, I won't bother you about it much more, but please, give it serious consideration. You'll be out of this stinky building, and out of those heels I _know_ you hate wearing." His dark green eyes pleaded with her, and she sighed.

"Fine. I'll look at the file, but I've made up my mind. I've got more important things to do here. Even though it's been some time, Kijuju still has some loose Manjini running around in the swamp lands. Someone has to lead the group in there."

"Sheva, you're out of the danger; why do you want to go back into that? Weren't you having nightmares for months after Albert Wesker was killed?" At mention of his name, she remembered vividly his cat-like eyes that glowed red in the darkness and shivered. Even his voice lingered in her head.

"I'm past it," she dismissed with a wave of her hand. A video conference with United Kingdom branch director Arnold Smithe was to take place shortly, and she was to help her director, Khalid Ibn Altair, relay all that had happened between the Kijuju incident and the exact moment in which she was living. With the last supposed existing Wesker child dead, they could finally sit down and organize their growing mass of support in the war against bio-terrorism.

Sighing, Sheva sat down in the rolling chair and pulled herself up to the desk while Hawkins stood off to the side. From her position, she could overlook the floor where desks stood in place in neat rows of 6 by 8, some BSAA members focused intently on their work with their heads down while others whizzed by with papers to photocopy and mail to deliver. A giddy feeling entered her heart at the sight of so much activity. She had contributed to this flow of progress and watched as it flourished into what it was that day.

_Sheva girl, you did good in fighting for a good cause. I wonder where I'd be if Mom and Dad were still alive..._If Umbrella hadn't been an evil pharmaceutical company that created bio-engineered viruses with the intent of creating 'superior' beings, then she might have become some sort of a scientist herself. All of her teachers commended her for her extensive knowledge of chemical compounds and ability to relay medical terms as if they were every day language.

However, she didn't mind her current occupation; she had value. She had worth. If she had died or disappeared, people would go searching for her, people would mourn her. She _mattered_ here. And that, she wouldn't trade for anything.

Suddenly, the main doors swished open, bringing in a gust of cold air as the director followed by several guards with automatics entered the room.

Khalid had become their substitute director for four months after the original West African branch location had been demolished, and the first director retired, making it easy for him to slide in as the permanent replacement. He had been transferred from their Iranian branch in Qatar and showed an intense fascination with the abominations that Umbrella had created through Wesker and Birkin's research on the Progenitor virus. He was an illusive man of little words, and only gave orders when no one else was around to give them. He stayed in his office most of the time, typing away on his keyboard or talking on the phone. Sheva got the feeling that he was truly disconnected from the other BSAA members, and probably loathed some of them in secret. Hawkins would walk by, say a hello, and Khalid would stare daggers at his retreating form.

_Well, they'll just have to talk it out eventually.._.she thought. "Director Ibn Altair," she addressed him. Deep down in what was left of her teenage life was a small, minute, atom-sized crush she had on the handsome older man. He had impeccable olive-colored skin, thick raven-black hair, smoky green eyes that could have a person cowering in fear, and a smile that would slay countless numbers of women if they ever saw it. He knew he was good-looking for a 46 year-old man, so the fact that he worked out faithfully in the basement gym was no surprise to her. She'd caught a few of the younger female agents spying him out from around the corner and laughed at their school girl antics. He knew they were watching.

"Chief Alomar. Are the reports ready?" And another thing, he had an excellent command of the English language, despite being fluent in Persian, and coupled with his accent...

_Enough, Sheva. No more drooling over Khalid._ She glanced down at his left hand and almost felt disappointed that there was a titanium band on his ring finger. _There are plenty of other nice-looking men out there...younger too._

"Yes. They're ready to be uploaded to the screen with one push of the Enter key."

"Good." It didn't take long for the P.A system to announce that the U.K branch director was waiting on the line, and Sheva readily opened the telecom link. A flat digital image of Arnold Smithe appeared in a square window. He had a few agents accompanying him on screen that were looking quite nervous.

Smithe was an average-looking man with a plain face, blue eyes and dark brown hair that was turning grey in the crown, but he was as calm as ever. "Top of the morning to everyone," he greeted in his British accent. "Let's get down to business, shall we?"

"Of course," Khalid cleared his throat before opening the manila file in front of him. "Agents in Kijuju, Ghana, Timbuktu and Abidjan, and the outlying areas of these major cities have reported that Tricell activity has ceased totally with the death of Excella Gionne and Albert Wesker. Their factories have been put out of commission and all of their employees have returned to their homes. The Alpha and Bravo teams investigated the labs here in Kijuju, cleaned up any residual infected, and haven't reported any sights of Uroboros victims in eight months."_ So much for them needing my help in the clean-up_ she morosed.

"Good. Excellent news for the U.S branch. Anything else?" Khalid scanned the document further.

"Our teams in the other cities haven't recovered anything unusual from the Tricell labs in their respective locations. But from the encrypted data files that they uncovered, we've uncovered designs for a partially submerged facility. Where they planned on building this is unknown, but they were already in the beginning phases when the Kijuju incident occurred in 2009." The BSAA members on the ground floor started mumbling loudly. Sheva was also taken aback by this new information; when had they discovered this underwater facility? They wouldn't forget to tell her intentionally, would they?

"Why wasn't I told about this?" she asked barely above a whisper.

"This is information we just received under an hour ago from the Abidjan members. They've found T-Virus zombies in cryostasis in one of the hidden labs as well as more vials of the T-strain in a storage unit. Their creation date is labeled 12/17/2009."

"What?" Sheva hissed. "That doesn't mean what I think it does."

"Someone who knows the sequence for the creation of the T-Virus is still alive, and there are only 2 persons. Both are deceased."

Sheva felt her heart shrivel up and fall into her stomach. _He can't still be alive...he just can't...I killed him...we killed him... _

"And we have no leads as to where this person could be?" Smithe asked. He was still as placid as ever, and it was beginning to irritate the young, frustrated woman.

"No, I'm afraid not. They're still wiping the databases in Abidjan, but it may take a while for them to go through all the files. There are about half a million stored. For now, we wait for what they come up with, if anything."

"And if they come up with nothing?" Hawkins pitched in.

Khalid didn't bother looking back at the younger man. "Then we wait for another Raccoon City." The entire room grew eerily still as everyone recalled the fate of that small, innocent city in the middle of nowhere.

The next event happened too quickly for Sheva's brain to process all at once. One moment, she was sitting in her chair, about to rip her hair out over the biggest failure in BSAA history, and the next, her desk was on top of her, lying in plastic splinters and plywood. She couldn't hear anything; it was as if her ears were full of water or she had pushed two Q-tips too far into her head. There was fire all around her and something wet and warm in her hair.

She had just gotten used to the new job. People were shouting and screaming, but they all sounded so far away. Feet hurried by her line of sight; everyone seemed to overlook her. The digital feed was now static on the large screen with big bold letters across the middle: 'SIGNAL LOST.'

Finally, she felt someone lifting her body from the floor, but there was no one around. _She_ had picked herself up and tried to hobble to the nearest set of stairs. Her hearing returned, and suddenly everything came at her full force. The fire alarm was going off, Hawkins was yelling at everyone, telling them to help the wounded get outside, and the building was continuing to crumble and melt all around her.

The ground floor was a mess. Desks strewn about as if struck by a hurricane, bodies lay in whichever position she could imagine and there were papers blowing aimlessly in the wind.

They had been devastated in one sweep. Just like that.

"Sheva!" Hawkins cried, limping to her. His solid blue T-shirt was stained with his own blood dripping from his temple. "My god, are you okay?"

She nodded. "I'm fine." Glancing down, Sheva noticed that her shooting arm had been cut, perhaps by the table, and she had long scrapes on her legs that were burning and throbbing simultaneously, but other than the headache forming at the base of her skull, she could manage the pain until they got to the hospital.

Hawkins surveyed the room once more, running a hand through his ginger hair. "I think there were bombs set up on the ground floor and on the main support beams in the main hall, which is why we're still alive. But we have to get out of here and evacuate the other buildings; no one's safe." Sheva nodded and followed her fellow agent down the hall to the maintenance stairwell, her handgun ready for any enemies. A few others had survived and were making their way down as well, helping one another along.

"Something like this had to happen when everything was going great," Hawkins sighed. They finally reached the exit and stepped out into the African heat of midday. The other buildings were still intact, but it was only a matter of time before they were reduced to rubble, as well.

"We have to get to Josh," Sheva reminded him in a panicked tone, trying to run to where his office lay. Her red-headed friend stopped her with his hand.

"You can't go in there. You're worse off than me; I'll go warn them and help them evacuate. You wait for any other survivors away from the building." His forest green eyes were more serious than she had ever seen them. He wouldn't let her go, no matter what.

"Fine. But hurry." He nodded once and then hurried away; he had at least 100 yards to cover. Sheva looked on anxiously, but at the sound of others opening the emergency exit, she turned to help them.

"Are you the rest of the survivors?" she asked the young female she recognized as Elizabeth and her sister Lillith. They looked pretty shaken up, plaster-covered, but unharmed physically.

"We were in the gym when we heard the explosions, and then the ceiling nearly fell on top of us," Lillith whimpered.

"You guys are safe now. It's over," Sheva assured them. Suddenly, another round of explosions erupted and she whirled around to the other BSAA buildings. There was no way anyone survived it with an explosion that large. "Get down!" she ordered, shielding the girls with her arms, only to be thrust into their bodies from the brute force of the blast. The group skidded several yards back, and then she sat up, rubbing her throbbing head.

Gasping, she struggled to her feet once again. "Joshua. Hawkins." A large pillar of smoke began to waft into the air from the explosion sites, and she could hear the fire brigade sirens wailing in the distance.

Hawkin's family; how would she tell them?

Josh's wife and two children?

Her eyes began to burn, and she felt something that she hadn't in a long time.

Falling to her knees, she covered her face with her hands and began weeping bitterly.

* * *

**Wooo, what an intense beginning! Sheva hates Chris, Chris is avoiding Sheva, and Jill's the only one who's normal. Does anyone wonder why Chris was trying to avoid her? I wanted to do something different with a ChrisxSheva pairing; instead of them falling in love after 24 hours in a zombie infestation, they departed as friends, only to be at odds after what should've been a happy occasion for a common friend. And what's up with Chris being all mopey and loser-like?**

**I get the feeling I should've never started Aftermath and did this story instead. But that story's fresh as well as this one, so I'll juggle them and see which one's more appealing.**

**I'll try to update regularly, but if I don't, please don't send Wesker after me.**


	2. Part II

**A/N: Aaaand here comes part 2! Sorry it took so long.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything within Capcom or any brand names that are mentioned within, so please do not sue. However, any and all names that appear in this story that are unfamiliar to the audience are original and thus belong to me. Any striking ****similarities to persons or things in real life is strictly coincidental.**

**Note: Chris and Sheva will not be friends for a while.**

** Sivan IXXX (I've gone back to this name because I LOVE the way it sounds!)**

* * *

**Partie II: Reunion**

The IATF (International Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms and Explosives) officer asked Sheva a million questions that night in one of their tents erected for the survivors, however few they were, and she didn't know what she told him. He could've asked her where Joshua was during the second explosion; she could've replied that he was on the moon. He could've asked if the BSAA had any known antagonists in the Kijuju area; she could've said Bozo the Clown.

She didn't care. Her mind had shut down, and pure adrenaline had set in. The IATF's questioning was an action; her words were a reaction. Simple as that. Soon after he left, a medical technician came in and asked how she was faring; she didn't remember if she replied or not.

He told her she was suffering a mild concussion and that it would be unwise to sleep for at least twelve hours. Sheva wasn't tired, anyway.

She wouldn't know where to begin with Thandewa; a simple letter of condolences and regret would be sent to Hawkin's family, although the best thing to do was to have a BSAA representative tell the news to his mother and father. She didn't know which would be worse.

'A set of twins and a third child on the way. How will they grow up without knowing their father and what a great man he was?' she thought. Her eyes absently followed the paramedic as she cleaned the scratches on her shins; she had a modest carat diamond ring on her left hand and a subtle glimmer beneath her golden brown skin.

"When's the big day?" Sheva asked in Swahili.

"October 17th." At hearing the date, she almost gasped in utter shock.

"Congratulations." 'Joshua's birthday. Someone's obviously trying to tell me that this is all my fault.'

"Thank you," she beamed and went right back to work in silence. Her boss' boss, or in other words, the African Branch Overseer was on her way from Lagos and should've been there any minute.

"...to happen again, we need to be ready and alert the United States branch as well as the Asian and South Pacific branches. We can't afford to lose anymore people," her gruff voice boomed just outside the tent.

"Yes, ma'am. I'll alert them right away." She stepped through the flaps and scanned the personnel for her target and spotted the younger African woman. A look of sympathy crossed her features for a moment as she slowly made her way to the B.S.A.A agent.

Abayomi Kidjo was a tall, slender Moroccan woman in her mid-forties with dark wavy hair that sported a few gray streaks in the temples and high, chiseled cheek bones that did well to hide her age, as well as give the impression that she was soft-spoken and gentle in demeanor. All those who knew her personally were aware of her frank, stalwart attitude that she wielded like the two Beretta 92FS she kept in either side of her suit jacket. However, she did sympathize with the young women under her care and keeping, and had even become somewhat of an aunt to Sheva after learning of her parents' fate.

"I got here as soon as I can to find out what the heck is going on." Her chestnut eyes were full of fury and a taste for revenge.

"Obviously someone is trying to take us out, cut down our forces," Sheva replied, swiping at the paramedic cleaning the cut on her face. "With the dissemination of Umbrella and the fallout of TriCell, I figured our worst problems were over."

"We know better than to think the war on bio-terrorism would be over this soon. Nobody knows who else Albert Wesker was in bed with when it comes to those viruses."

"As soon as I'm done here, I have to go back to the blast site and try to find some sort of lead."

"I have a team on that already, Sheva. You're in no shape to be hunched over rubble and digging through office furniture." What Abayomi said was true, but she couldn't just _sit_ there and do _nothing_ to bring justice and peace to Hawkins and Joshua.

"Can they at least keep me updated on their progress?" Sheva asked, getting to her sore feet.

"Yes. They should be done within the hour. I'm giving you 2 weeks' leave."

Confused, the B.S.A.A agent asked, "Why?"

"To tie up loose ends."

* * *

"Joshua Stone was one of the best. He was a leader admired for his courage, his love for his fellow soldiers who he regarded as friends and family, as well as his wife and two children. Even when he was forced to take a desk job, he still did his work with a smile on his face. Joshua, you will be missed, but we know you're no longer in pain," Director Kidjoe finally finished her speech and turned her attention to the large picture of Sheva's friend and instructor.

She had explained it to Abayomi beforehand that she wouldn't be able to speak without breaking down in front of everyone, but rather, had decided to sit in the front row with the very pregnant Thandewa and the twins, Kigali and Cheedo. The night she went to their humble three bedroom abode in one of Kijuju's smaller suburbs was still fresh and vivid in her mind.

_"Sheva, I was just thinking about you! Cheedo, Kigali, Auntie Sheva's here!" Thandie told the twins. They came running out of the kitchen and gathered around, hugging her torn and battered legs with their little arms. Still so young..._

_"Auntie, why do you have so many scratches on your legs?" Kigali asked, her wide almond eyes peered up at her. _

_Thandie looked her up and down. __"Yes, Sheva, why do you look like you've been fighting hyenas?" she asked with a light chuckle in her voice. Sheva wished she could laugh, but the news she had for her friend was far from joyous._

_"There was an accident...at the B.S.A.A. Thandie, I need you to sit down." _

_Realization dawned on the pregnant woman's face, and she backed away. "No. Joshua is coming home tonight. He-he's just running late, is all," she whispered, busying her hands with the children's dishes on the table. Sheva knew it was going to be difficult._

_"Thandie. Thandie," she stated her name more firmly the second time, grabbing her arms gently._

_"You don't know where he is. He wasn't at his desk; he was outside," she blurted, trying to fight the tears welling in her eyes. Kigali and Cheedo were confused yet fearful. They had an idea of what was going on, but they were unsure. _

_Sheva hated herself for this. "Thandewa, he's gone."_

While deep in thought, she had failed to realize that everyone was standing for the prayer; it was over before she could erect herself. She turned her gaze to the stage. 'No body. The fire must have incinerated him completely,' she thought, and immediately regretted it. A wave of nausea crept into her stomach and the sudden need to leave the stuffy recreation center overcame her.

Outside, the sun was just beginning to set, thus giving the symmetrical roofs of the neighborhood a dramatic lighting, almost too beautiful for a day like this.

"Mrs. Stone and the girls will be moved to a private sector until we figure out what's going on," Director Kidjo interrupted her thoughts.

Sheva turned to the older woman. "Exactly _what_ is going on?"

"Well, the arson specialist collected chemicals used to make PE4s in both buildings. The manufacturer is based in Washington, U.S.A. There are a few agents stationed there, but we're only sending you and one other to investigate."

"Is that all?"

"No. Hawkin's funeral is in Seattle; we—meaning I—would like you to attend and personally extend our condolences to his family." Sheva bristled at the thought, but since she was the Captain of the B.S.A.A West African branch, and he was under her division, she had no choice but to face reality. "We need you to get on a plane as soon as you can."

"Right away, Director Kidjoe." Sheva started to walk away when she added, "His mentor lives there—Christopher Redfield."

She stopped dead in her tracks, then kept walking as if she hadn't heard her last statement.

* * *

_"Hey, Sheva. I was just checking up on you to—"_

_"Is this a joke?"_

_"What?"_

_"Is. This. A. Joke. I haven't heard from you in weeks, and now you make it a point to call me? Have you finally come out of Lala Land now that your Jill addiction is just about over?"_

_"Sheva, that's not fair. She had been my partner for 10 years when she disappeared. I had to find her."_

_"I understand that, but no goodbye? No congratulations on my promotion? Everyone else had made it a point to do that, except you. You were too busy horse backing Jill at the wedding."_

_He was at a loss for words. She continued. "Did you think Wesker was going to come back from the dead and take her away again? Or is she the most important thing to you at all times?"_

_"The mission always comes first, Sheva. You know that."_

_"I'm finding that hard to believe. It'd have been nice for you to acknowledge my existence, Chris. I thought we were partners."_

_"It was just for that mission."_

_"Oh." Her tone had changed. It suddenly went from being overly emotional to flat-out indifference. "I understand completely."_

_He quickly tried to correct himself. "Sheva, that's not—"_

_"Good-bye, Christopher."_

* * *

Spring showers didn't differ much from fall showers, or winter showers for that matter.

Water was water, and rain all looked the same no matter the time of year. He thanked God for the diversion, an excuse to stay indoors and away from people. When it was just him, he had control. When it was just his thoughts, he didn't have to care about anyone else's thoughts. He could be selfish for once in his life.

Mod Squad reruns were starting to look the same, Gunsmoke was his midday Western show, and Without A Trace was his nightcap before the channels rolled into infomercials until the early morning.

One eventful moment that had happened a few days ago was the visit of his persistent little sister, Claire. She had tried to get into his apartment, but he had it locked down, and turned off the lights, hiding in his kitchen. She called his home number, and then his cell number and tried peeking in his windows. After about half an hour, she retired from her efforts and jumped in her car and left.

He didn't know avoiding people was so interesting.

When the mail came later on that day, he stepped outside, fumbled for his keys, and opened his box. He snatched the envelopes and ran to his apartment, locking the door behind him. Sighing, he plopped down on his couch.

"So this is how you live?" a feminine voice asked from behind him. Immediately, he pulled out his M9 and got to his feet, aiming at the petite silhouette.

"Come out into the light," he demanded, although hesitant. He had heard her voice before; it was so familiar...

"I'm disappointed that you don't remember me," she replied, taking slow, deliberate steps towards him. The dull sunlight illuminated her sandaled feet first, then her long shapely legs, and then her black sheath dress.

When it finally hit her face, her doe-like hazel eyes, he lowered his gun. "Sheva? What are you doing here?"

Her eyes were intense and watery, like she had been crying. "You missed David's funeral." He turned away from her; he didn't have time to cater to her emotions.

"I wasn't informed."

"Bullcrap. Every B.S.A.A agent received a letter of those we lost. And you were his mentor; why wouldn't you get one?"

Already, he was getting irritated; it had been so long since he'd interacted with another person. "Did Claire send you after me because she couldn't do it herself?"

Sheva was growing tired of his smart-aleck responses. "Look, just because Jill walked out of your life doesn't mean the world's ending. Move on."

"My world ended when she disappeared, Sheva. And don't you _dare_ ask me to move on. You have no idea what we've been through together," he snapped.

"You can tell me later, but I'm here right now because the organization that _you_ petitioned for is under attack."

Now, _that_ he hadn't heard of; he whirled around to face her. "What happened?"

"Someone blew up the West African branch. The PE4s they used were made here in Washington."

"Do you know exactly where?"

"It's not a company; it's a private organization up in the mountains. PyroTechnix. They have the purchase list, but they're refusing to hand the file over because of clientele confidentiality and security issues. I have a warrant to enforce a search; the African branch director is making us work together."

"No thanks. I think you can handle this one without me. Besides, I'm on leave." He plopped back down on the couch and went for his remote.

"You've been M.I.A for _two months!_ I think that's enough woe-is-me time. Your friends and fellow agents need you. Are you just going to let them do this and get away with it?"

He grabbed her by her arms, perhaps trying to shake some sense into the woman. "The B.S.A.A has grown beyond what I expected; they can take care of themselves. Including you,_ Captain _Alomar."

She pulled away. "If Jill were in the same situation, she'd jump on the opportunity to bring justice to what has happened to us. She'd want Hawkin's death to mean something." He stood rooted in the ground, pondering over the thought. "Or does your team not mean that much to you?" Her words cut like a hot knife through butter; he cleared his throat before he uttered, "I'll go with you into the mountains, but that's it."

* * *

The U.S branch of the B.S.A.A sent overhead shots as well as other photos taken from all angles of the PyroMaster Explosives compound. It was set up like a steel mill to hide its true purpose. There were humongous oil barrels on either side of the main building, and a few garages over to the left heading deeper into the mountains. There was a square perimeter fence that enclosed the entire compound, but from their spot on the high hill, they could see a small room at the very top of the mill; that was where their objective lay.

And of course, it was heavily guarded. The sky walk connecting the walls had six guards, four carrying SIG-552s and the other two had M107s at the ready.

"For someone who makes fireworks, it sure does look like Fort Knox on the outside." Chris huffed out a cloud of warm breath before lowering his goggles. "How are we supposed to get in without getting caught?"

"We've been given a warrant, but I doubt they'd comply considering they didn't want to talk on the phone. And they make high-grade explosives for terrortists. Here," she handed him a bag. He looked down at it, then sent her a questioning look. "It's a suit. Put it on."

"Am I going in there as a potential client?" he asked, pulling off his shirt.

"Yes." She took a quick glance in his direction before putting her binoculars to her eyes. "I'll cover you from here if they want to get testy with their new client."

"If?" he echoed. "If you haven't noticed, they have a personal army at their front door. If you're sending me in there to get back at me for caring about my partner, then you can forget this little operation."

"Look," she growled, turning to face him. "That's personal business between you and I. This mission has nothing to do with it, so as of now, it's not important. But let me make this clear: we are **not** friends."

"I didn't come here to kiss and makeup with you anyway. Once this is done, I'm gone."

"Fine." The conversation ended with the pair glaring at each other until one decided to look away. The sound of a warehouse door opening caught their attention. An unmarked freighter truck was exiting the compound. "They must be delivering explosives, though it wouldn't make sense for them to be so obvious."

"Any ordinary person won't think twice about the truck. Since we're standing here at an explosives manufacturing plant, we know its true purpose. I'm going in now." He started to walk off until she grabbed him by the hook of his elbow. He quirked a brow in her direction. "So much for personal space," he grumbled.

"You almost forgot your earpiece and your camera." Sheva put a small, clear bud in his ear and then put a kerchief in his breast pocket. "I should be able to see what you see and hear what you hear from this point on. This," she showed him a small black square, "Is a hard drive. A smart illegal bomb maker would keep his files on the computer, not in a desk. So when you get into his office, put this in his computer, upload the decryption file, then download the purchase records. If the file on the owner is accurate, then you have a ten minute window to do this. He has a decoy take his place until he knows the deal is legit. There's an underground bunker a little ways from here; they drive him to the warehouse to close the deals. There's no reason for this to blow up in our faces."

"No pun intended?" he asked.

She gave him a deadpan stare. "Just go. You're supposed to be there exactly at 2 P.M."

"Yes, O Captain, my captain," he stated in dripping sarcasm. If his intention was to make her angry, it was working. Chris turned on his heel and started down the incline carrying his briefcase.

"Smart-mouthed jerk," she mumbled, arming the AS50 Joshua had given her.

Chris walked with a bit more tempest than intended, but it felt good to let off some steam. Sheva was giving him the third degree and Jill had disappeared again, but this time, he had no leads as to where she could be, and the B.S.A.A was under attack. Who knew which division would be bombed next? Why hadn't he been informed of the West African incident?

'Well, I guess taking LWOP would have something to do with it...' he thought. The tall wire gates loomed over him as he approached the compound.

"Stay where you are," a voice commanded over the intercom. "Security will clear you shortly." A tall, burly man in black came hurrying out the building; Chris knew the drill. He raised his hands to eye level as the officer patted him down quickly.

"What's in that brief case?" he huffed.

"Papers. Schematics for the type of explosives I need," he replied. "Now, are we going to actually do this transaction, or are you going to keep enjoying this shake down?"

The guard turned red and furrowed his brows. "You try anything funny, and the boss'll wear your teeth as a necklace." He gestured Chris to follow him, and he picked up his suitcase and followed him inside.

_"Just keep acting the way you are and they won't suspect a thing,"_ Sheva's voice interrupted his concentration. He couldn't say anything in reply, so he continued walking in silence.

The inside of the warehouse smelled of gasoline and burning plastic, a terrible toll on the lungs. But nonetheless, there were workers on the ground floor hammering metal into shapes of automatics and projectile launchers. There were grenades stacked high in the far right corner and case upon case that read PE4 and C4. Thankfully, the noise level from all of the hammering and sawing was high enough to mask over his conversation with Sheva.

"There's enough firearms in here to win the war in Afghanistan."

_"My director did say that this company created a hundred thousand pounds of explosives last year and sold every unit to anti-peace factions. They have more than enough money to buy a lawyer and a judge good enough to cover their tracks."_

"Another fight for another day," he sighed, returning to the moment at hand. They were heading towards an elevator and stepping inside when the guard asked, "Which faction are you from?"

Chris thought quickly. "What's left of TriCell." He glanced at the man, who raised his brows, then lowered them before Chris could discern what the gesture meant.

"The B.S.A.A has its hands full," he chuckled, shaking his head.

"There's someone else planning to attack them?" the B.S.A.A agent pried.

"I can't say who you're in competition with, but they're about their business."

"So is _my_ group. We won't stop until every B.S.A.A agent is found and killed."

"Well, then you'd better get to it; they're already one step ahead of you."

The elevator doors opened to the third floor, which was a stark contrast to the warehouse. There were offices on each side of the hallway well lit by overhead fluorescent lights and a main door made of steel at the end of the corridor.

"Your deal will be handled in this room," the guard told him as they reached the security panel. Chris flexed the muscles in his back and rolled his shoulders, sighing in slight exasperation. "Don't worry, it won't take hours of mindless conversation to do this; you fill out the form, he looks it over, approves it, then your request is fulfilled within 5 days."

The panel beeped loudly, and the stocky man opened the door, letting Chris inside. "The group you're in competition with, they said something about a virus in conversation with the boss."

Chris felt his heart begin to race; there hadn't been any rumors of a virus in 3 years. What was left of the Uroboros was destroyed with Albert Wesker in the volcano. "What about a virus? They come and go all the time."

"Yeah, but it was different from smallpox or anything relatively harmless like it. A virus that can alter the DNA of the host or something. But I'm sure it was nothing; that kind of stuff is only true in comics," he dismissed, closing the door and leaving Chris alone.

'If only he knew,' he thought. Dumbfounded, he plopped down in the chair and ran a hand through his russet brown locks. He closed his eyes and began to loosen his tie. The room was stuffy and hot, and the weight of knowing another zombie outbreak might_—_and more and likely would happen, was just too much. "I can't believe this," he sighed. "Sheva, are you hearing this?"

_"Loud and clear."_ Her voice sounded distant, perhaps in remembering the nightmare in Kijuju._ "Whoever's attacking the B.S.A.A is recreating the T-Virus."_

* * *

Once again sorry for the late update. I've been the Energizer bunny for some months now, zipping back and forth between family and other things. I'll probably have some down time this week, considering I'm on vacation now. I'm going to take the advice of a friend and update just 3 stories for now until they're done, then move on to 3 more and do it like that.

So after this update, I'll be going back to my 2 Assassin's Creed stories and The Lioness and the Hunter. Sound good? Good. I'll also be working on some artwork for AC and putting it on my DA account, but not until next week. Maybe even some digital artwork.


End file.
